DS1 Out of Time
by Denise Felt
Summary: When the aliens devise a way to make the commander disappear, they find that he's harder to get rid of than they thought.


**1. Out of Time**

**(A UFO Story)**

by Denise Felt 2010

_Dedicated to fellow fanfic writer and friend, Louise Oatridge._

**Chapter 1**

"Forsooth, man! Be noble about this," Straker said firmly. "It is the very least that is to be expected of a man at any time!"

"Yes, my lord," the young aristocrat agreed, hanging his head.

"Cut!" yelled the director.

Straker dropped his autocratic pose and grinned at Justin. "Well done," he told him quietly as he went to get his makeup refreshed.

Justin grinned back, relieved that he had gotten through that tense scene. Mr. Straker had been a great help to him with it. He'd struggled and struggled to put himself in the place of the young man he was portraying, but Straker was a veteran actor and showed him just how easy it was to play this, the tensest scene in the film.

"Nobility," he had told the young actor. "Is a trait we don't think about often in our fast-paced society, where most of the time we deal with people without ever seeing their faces. But in the Georgian era, things were different. Business was conducted face to face. A man's reputation depended on his actions, which were scrutinized and discussed at length by everyone around them. Without nobility in their daily interactions, even the richest men were shunned in society. The name a man made for himself meant more to him than any amount of gold."

Justin had been so grateful for his words. He had looked up the word noble in the dictionary, but hadn't been able to decipher its meaning very well. Period pieces were always the hardest to act in, because the way that the people thought and behaved in certain situations was so different from today. In fact, the last time he had tried to do a period piece, it had been a crashing flop. But with Mr. Straker's help, he thought he might just get through this movie looking good. Maybe even good enough for an Oscar.

Straker sat still, allowing Susan, his makeup assistant, to powder his face. He was tired. The shoot had begun at five am for him because of the elaborate costumes required for this film. He'd been in fittings until seven, when he'd finally been called to the set. And he had only managed to snatch a few hours sleep last night, because they'd had an alert that had kept him at HQ until after two. The aliens were on a roll, determined to get through SHADO's enhanced radar screens. There was almost an air of desperation about them now that considerably worried the commander. If they were desperate, their moves would be much harder to predict.

And SHADO would have to be ready for anything.

He opened his eyes once Susan okayed it and immediately saw Ford standing just past the set area. The lieutenant was waiting patiently to make eye contact with him. Damn. Not again. Not now. He nodded once to him, then with a sigh got up from his stool and went to the director to give him the bad news. Well. At least they'd managed to finish this scene.

***

"Status?" he demanded as he strode into the Control room, Lt. Ford just behind him.

Alec looked up from where he was bent over the radar screen and involuntarily grinned. The commander was resplendent in a dark grey satin jacket that molded to his figure lovingly. The heavy embroidery of his waistcoat brought out the blue of his eyes, making them gleam in the fluorescent lighting of HQ. He wore hair extensions that lengthened his white blonde hair past his shoulders, although it was confined just now in a black riband. To say nothing about his snug satin breeches, stockinged legs, or heeled shoes. He was a sight, all right. But upon meeting his commander's grim eyes, the colonel swallowed his grin and said, "Nine UFOs. And not a one of them on the same heading. We've launched the interceptors for the three nearest ones."

Straker said, "Right. I want every Sky jet in the air. Now."

"Yes, sir." Ford had resumed his seat at his console and now contacted their fleet of Skydiver submarines around the globe.

The commander turned back to Alec. "Do we have the trajectories?"

"Yes," his second-in-command told him, showing him on the large map he'd laid out on a nearby console. "But they don't make any sense. They're all over the place."

Straker stared at the map for a long time, looking for patterns in the apparently random destinations of the current wave of UFOs.

"Could they be decoys?" Alec asked him finally.

"It's possible," the commander admitted. "But I'd feel better if we knew what it was that these locations had in common. Where's Col. Lake?"

"I sent her home an hour ago," the colonel said.

Straker's lips compressed slightly. "Well. Get her back here. We need answers, and she seems to be the only one who can get that computer to tell us anything but gibberish."

"Ed," Alec said softly. "She was here all night. Don't you think . . . ?"

The commander's eyes bored into his. He wanted to say that so too had he been there all night, but he bit his words back before uttering them, knowing that they sprang from his exhaustion. "Get her, Alec. She can sleep later."

"Right."

***

The transporters had been kept hopping, moving mobile units into the areas around the globe where the three remaining UFOs were headed. The mobiles would have backup from the Sky jets, but they knew that the brunt of the work was up to them.

Lt. Preston radioed HQ. "Mobile leader 3 to SHADO Control."

He heard the commander's voice over his headphones. ""We read you. What's the situation, Lieutenant?"

"We're in position, Commander."

"Right. They should be landing in your area soon. Keep your men sharp."

"Yes, sir."

Straker turned from the communications console and headed for his HQ office. The Moonbase interceptors had taken out two of the incoming wave of UFOs. The Sky jets had accounted for another four. Now all that remained was for the ground crews to deal with the three that were left. Their job, the commander knew, would be the hardest of the lot. In the cat and mouse game of hide and seek they'd be playing with the aliens once they landed, at any second things could switch from them being the cat to becoming the mouse. Which was why only the most elite of SHADO's troops were used to fill positions on the mobile units. They needed their best, their strongest, their most fearless men for the mobiles.

Unfortunately, these were also the men they tended to lose first. The dangers were just so great. Just three weeks ago, they'd lost seven men during one of these incursions. Among them was the mobile leader, Colonel Lars McGuire, a man who'd been with SHADO since its inception. These were the hardest for the commander to lose – these men who'd been beside him since the beginning of this war. It still weighed heavily on him to lose Lars – even all this time after the funeral, the eulogies, the posthumous medals. Lars had been a rock. As dependable as the day was long.

Now he was gone.

Straker couldn't stop the sigh of relief once he sat in the leather chair at his desk. His feet were killing him. Shoes of the Georgian period had not been worn for comfort. Style had been their god, and it was style that pinched his feet even now. Damned uncomfortable shoes. At least his suit fit well.

Alec followed him into the office. "Nice hair," he commented on his way to the corner drink dispenser.

"Shut up, Alec," his commander told him, fighting a smile.

Freeman grinned, coming to the chair in front of the desk and making himself comfortable there. "Pretty as a picture," he said, undeterred.

A chuckle escaped and was disguised as a cough. "Cut it out!" Straker told him, trying to be stern.

Eventually the colonel's expression darkened as he brooded into his drink. "Damn it, Ed! What are they up to now?"

"I wish I knew," the commander said wearily. "How long until Col. Lake has results for us?"

Alec shrugged. "Who knows? It depends on if there really is a common factor with the nine different locations they were headed to."

"Well, they didn't travel all this way without a reason, Alec! We need to know what they're up to this time."

The door to his office slid open, and Col. Lake entered. She tried not to stare at her commander as she handed him her report. She'd certainly seen him in costume before. Alerts came when they came. And it wasn't always possible for their workaholic commander to change first from whatever costume he was wearing in the studio before coming downstairs to HQ to handle things. She recalled the time he'd showed up in the Control room for an alert in his Oberon costume from the Shakespeare remake. Complete with wings. That had been a sight to see!

But today he looked so . . . ! She had no words. In full Georgian attire, he was simply the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on. She'd tried for years to ignore how gorgeous he was, especially since he had never treated her as anything more than just another operative. But today, with his white blonde hair lengthened and tied back so strikingly, she found herself having to forcibly keep her tongue in her mouth.

She was tired, she was cranky, but she was nonetheless amazed to realize how shaky her self-control was seeing him this way. It was as though every fantasy she'd ever imagined had coalesced into being right in front of her eyes. And she had to remain professional or he'd see right through her. God! Couldn't she have had some warning?

"The only commonality the computer can find in all nine locations is that they each contain small deposits of iridium."

Straker looked up at her from the report. "Why iridium, Colonel?"

She knew from the way he'd asked the question that he already had an idea as to the answer. But he wanted her take first. Damn him anyway. She was tired. But she took a breath and said, "Well. It's a rare metal."

"Yes, Colonel," he said dismissively. "We know our basic chemistry. What would make it of value to the aliens?"

"Perhaps because it is the only metal we know of that can maintain good mechanical properties in air at temperatures above 1600 degrees Celsius?"

"It could be. It could be," he conceded. "But I'm more concerned that iridium becomes a superconductor at extremely low temperatures, making it an excellent power source for space travel."

She gasped. "But . . . but surely there are planets with more deposits than we have here, sir! Most of our iridium is near the core, not available from the surface at all."

"Yes, I know," he said, sitting back in his chair and considering. "But perhaps they're desperate. Maybe they only need very small amounts to power their ships. And they know that we have what they need – if they can just get to it."

"Could their ships be powered with iridium, Ed?" Alec asked. "We've never found any evidence of that."

Straker waved an elegantly laced cuff at him. "We've never found out anything about their ships, Alec. You know that. They've made sure of it by blowing them up themselves when they know they're captured. But iridium only has a few properties that make it unique. And only one of those properties would make it desirable to a space-faring race."

He lifted the small glass globe from its stand on his desk, rolling it around in his lean fingers as he thought. "I've been wondering for a while now why they've stepped things up. They've been displaying a desperation in their attacks for the past month or so that can only mean that the balance of the war has shifted somehow. This raid could explain it. If they're low on fuel, this could quickly become a life-or-death situation for them. If they can't travel back and forth from their world to ours, they won't be able to replenish their supply of human organs to transplant. They'll be stuck on their dying world – awaiting an agonizing end."

"Then what can we do to ensure that?" Virginia asked. "How can we make sure that they're left without the fuel they need?"

"Alec," the commander said abruptly. "Get hold of the mobile leaders. Let them know the seriousness of the situation. If the aliens . . ." He stopped talking, alarmed by the heat that began emanating from the glass ball in his hands. "What the . . . ?"

Col. Freeman and Col. Lake watched in horror as he suddenly disappeared from their sight in a blinding flash of light.

**Chapter 2**

"Ed!"

"Commander!"

They both lunged for him, knowing it was useless. They could see that he was gone. But their minds didn't want to accept such an impossibility. They looked at each other in shock for a moment, then Alec hit the intercom button.

"Security alert!" he said tersely to Lt. Ford at the Communications console in the Control room.

***

A detailed search of HQ and the studio grounds did not yield the commander. When the final security unit reported in, Col. Freeman looked ill.

"Have you checked his house?" he asked Ford for the fourth time in an hour.

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said patiently. He could see how shaken up the colonel was and forgave him for his inability to accept the facts. He doubted if he'd be in any better shape in the colonel's shoes. Those who worked at HQ had seen some wild things take place over the years, but nothing like this had ever occurred before.

"His car?" Alec persisted.

"It's in the main studio parking lot."

"Alec," Ginny said, laying a hand on his arm. "You know he's not going to be in any of those places. Whatever happened to him, it wasn't something normal. We won't find him – if we find him at all – by normal means."

He stared at her, the horror of the situation sinking in and turning his already pale features ashen. "No! Not Ed!" he said fiercely.

"Let's go into the office," she said, leading him out of the Control room toward Straker's office.

But he refused to sit behind the desk. "I'm not giving anyone a chance to blink me out of existence!" he said.

"Alec," Ginny said. "He was holding that glass ball he's always fiddling with. It had to be the ball that was the catalyst in making him disappear. Not his chair."

He looked at her incredulously. "And how in the hell could a knickknack like that do anything to him?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But you can bet the aliens are behind it."

"Yeah," he said, leaning against the desk in defeat. "That much is a given."

"I wonder how they did it?" she mused.

"Hell, I want to know _what_ they did!" he said fiercely. "Is Ed dead? Did that flash of light kill him? Or is he still alive somewhere? Could he still be alive, do you think?"

"I wish I knew," she said. "I sincerely hope so. Because then we'd at least have the chance to find him."

Lt. Ford appeared in the doorway to the office. "Col. Freeman, Mobile leader 3 is reporting in."

"Right." Alec rose shakily and followed Ford into the Control room. All eyes in the room were on him, and he knew they were all wondering what he planned to do to get the commander back. Yeah, well. So too was he wondering! He got on the microphone.

"Tim, what have you got?"

Lt. Preston's voice crackled over the speakers. "Both aliens are dead, sir. We weren't able to take either of them alive. However, the ship is still intact. They didn't have the chance to self-destruct."

There was silence in HQ for a full minute. Then Alec said, "Good work! We'll send a hauler out to retrieve it. Will we have access?"

The lieutenant looked around before answering. "The trees are a little thick here, Colonel. But we should be able to get the area clear enough to load it up."

"Good. Get to work on it immediately. We're on the way."

"Yes, sir."

Freeman turned to Lt. Ford, glad of something positive to do. "Get a hauler out there. And contact the closest facility."

"That would be Fredericksburg, sir," Ford supplied.

"Right. Let them know what's coming."

"Yes, sir." Ford hesitated. "What about the commander, sir?" He couldn't help thinking how thrilled the commander would have been to get an intact ship to study. It was all wrong that he wasn't here to enjoy such a victory.

Alec's eyes met Ginny's for a moment. Then he said, "We'll find him, Keith. One step at a time."

"Yes, sir."

***

He landed on his backside in a clearing near a pond. He had dropped the glass paperweight when he fell, and he cautiously picked it up with his lace handkerchief, careful to keep his fingers from touching it as he placed it in one of the voluminous pockets of his jacket. He had no doubt that it had been instrumental in bringing him here – wherever here was. And he sincerely hoped he might be able to use it to get back home. But since that was not guaranteed, it was best to keep it with him until he knew more about where he was. And why.

Straker's eyes searched the nearby pond for any sign of alien activity as he quietly stood up and dusted himself off. The pond was deep, its surface still and dark even in full sunlight, and it made the small hairs at the back of his neck quiver as he wondered if they'd sent him right into easy reach of one of their ships. He backed up toward the treeline, never taking his eyes off the water, hardly daring to breathe until he reached the relative safety of the trees.

After several minutes walking, he found a worn path leading through the forest and gratefully followed it, knowing it was bound to lead him to some sign of civilization. He thought he might still be in England, because the trees surrounding him were familiar to him, as well as the birds he heard calling to one another. He didn't care, really, where he ended up. It was enough to be alive. And besides, there would be a SHADO installation somewhere near wherever he found himself. Their global network left very few gaps, a fact that he found extremely comforting at the moment.

As he thought of it, he reached into his pocket for his cellphone, knowing Alec would be frantically trying to locate him. But it showed no service. He frowned at it for a moment before replacing it in his pocket. He must be well beyond any communications tower for his phone not to work. It was a SHADO issue with exceptional range, able to tie into any tower at will, no matter whose it was. He might be farther afield than he originally thought.

When he finally came out of the trees, it was late afternoon. He was near the top of a hill and could see for miles around. None of it looked familiar to him, and he was rather dismayed to see no highways or power lines. The only sign of civilization in sight was a large manor house sitting on the next hill over and a small village in the next valley. He couldn't see much of the village other than the tops of the houses, but the manor was done in the Gothic Revival style made popular by Walpole in England a few centuries ago; which was somewhat reassuring, because it meant that there was a greater possibly of him still being in England. The grounds were extensive and included a formal garden off to the side that was visible from where he stood. The path he was walking on meandered down the hill and back up the other one, flowing naturally into the garden. He could make out what looked like a stable to the back of the manor, but no other outbuildings or garages. Which was odd. But perhaps they were hidden by the house itself, which certainly dominated the ground it stood on.

But as he approached the manor, he began to be concerned. There was something not quite right about his surroundings. The small details of modern life should have been evident: power lines, TV antennae, phone lines -- satellite dishes even! And he saw none of them. No paved road, no cars, no tire tracks where cars had driven on the dirt track in front of the house -- and as he approached from the side of the manor into the garden, he could clearly see that there was no garage behind the house. What did it mean? Were these people into reenacting an earlier era? Did he somehow end up in the one place in all of England where they adhered to the 'old ways'?

Or was it something much more serious? After all, he knew that the aliens were able to manipulate time. They'd done it before. But surely even they weren't capable of sending him to the past? He thought of his cellphone, which should have a signal and didn't. And the sky overhead, which showed no signs of jet trails or aircraft of any kind. He swallowed hard, forcing himself not to panic. He would assume nothing until he'd spoken to the residents. Hopefully, they could reassure him that he was still in England. And still in the twentieth century.

***

"Have you contacted Henderson?" she asked as she came into the office.

Col. Freeman looked up from his seat at the conference table, where he'd been reading reports. "No. Not yet."

Virginia frowned. "What are you waiting for? He needs to be told."

"Why?" he asked her. "So that he can decide that Ed's dead and put someone else in his place? No damn way!"

She sighed. She knew he had a valid argument. Henderson might do just that. But they couldn't pretend that their commander wasn't gone. And might not ever return.

"Alec, he needs to know that the commander is missing. Security may have already alerted him. Did you think of that? He'll want to know why we haven't contacted him."

He ran a hand over his eyes. He was tired of trying to hold things together when all he wanted to do was go somewhere and drink himself into oblivion. There was a heavy pain in his chest that nothing seemed to dislodge. And he was beginning to realize that he might never see his friend and commander again.

"He could come back any time, Ginny. Then wouldn't we feel stupid for not trusting him to deal with the situation?"

"Nothing would make me happier, Alec, than to have him waltz right into HQ and ask if we missed him. But in the meantime, SHADO has to run properly. Which means that we need a commanding officer. He would expect nothing less of us, and you know it."

He gave a heavy sigh and stood up. "Alright. I'll go tell him. If he doesn't court martial me for punching him when he suggests getting a replacement for Ed, I should be back within the hour."

She sincerely hoped he meant that as a joke.

**Chapter 3**

He had it worked out. He would ask to use their phone, and hopefully they wouldn't think it too odd that he was in costume. In spite of the absence of TV antennae, they might just recognize him from one of the movies he'd done over the years. He hoped they would be willing to help him. Because he simply had to sit down. His feet were throbbing with every step. He walked around the side of the manor on the dirt track that led from the side yard to the imposing gothic archway that covered the front entrance. But as he reached the front, he heard the thunder of hooves and saw a rider coming swiftly up the dirt track from around the hill he'd emerged from a while ago.

Straker stood still. It had been a long while since he'd had the pleasure of riding or even watching others do so. He'd been looking forward to when they went on location for the new film, because it meant that he would be able to do some riding for a few scenes. But he doubted if he would ever ride at the breakneck speed of this rider.

The horse was a beautiful chestnut built on strong lines. It didn't seem to mind the fierce pace set by its rider, but flew over the track effortlessly. And the rider was magnificent, as well. He could tell it was a woman, not only from her riding habit, which included a long full skirt instead of breeches, but from the fact that she was riding side saddle. He wondered that anyone would travel at those speeds in such a precarious riding position, and it made his heart give an unwelcome lurch as he realized that he knew no woman who would do so. It was a form of riding that had not been in fashion since women took to wearing riding breeches instead of skirts. He well remembered the arguments they'd had with his female lead for the movie when she'd been told she would have to learn how to ride side saddle and do it in a skirt. It was a lost art these days.

And this display of excellent horsemanship with a woman riding side saddle did not bode well for his still being in the twentieth century. Damn.

She pulled up on the reins as she reached him, flushed with pleasure from the energetic ride. She wore a hat set jauntily on top of her vivid curls, curls that shone like fire in the setting sun. Her hair color alone almost persuaded him to believe he was still in the present, since few women would have dared sport such a color as red as hers in any past British time period he could remember. But the style she wore it in was certainly reminiscent of the late Georgian era.

She interrupted his thoughts as she spoke.

"Good day to you, sir," she said with a nod. "What brings you to Devilsgate?"

"Excuse me?" He was astonished to hear that name.

She leaned forward in the saddle. "Are you lost? The village beyond you is Devilsgate." She pointed down the hill to where the tops of the houses were visible. "This is Claringbold Hall. Where were you heading?"

Straker looked into those dark eyes and felt ill. There was no doubt now that he was no longer in the present. Devilsgate had been the name of the town nearest to Harlington, some ten miles away, and it had been swallowed up as Harlington industrialized at the turn of the century. The _twentieth_ century. He looked back the way he'd come, realizing that if he'd gone the other way, he'd have ended up in the village of Harlington. He was in the right place. At least they hadn't sent him across the globe with that stunt. But he was definitely not in the right time.

Well, he thought with a relieved sigh, at least he was dressed for it.

"I have business in Devilsgate," he said smoothly. "But I was distracted by the manor. It's quite similar to Walpole's, isn't it?"

She threw back her head and laughed. "My father was a good friend of his," she explained, relaxing in her seat on the horse. "When Horace built Strawberry Hill, my father simply had to emulate him by refurbishing our manor. Do you like it?"

She slid down from the horse as she spoke, and he instinctively came forward to assist her. They stood quite close for a moment before he released her, and he could see that her eyes were not brown as he had thought at first, but were actually an unusual dark green. He stepped away from her and turned to the imposing house.

"It is . . . quite distinctive," he said diplomatically.

She laughed again. "Yes, it's rather much for its surroundings. But my father loved it." She walked with him toward the side yard, leading her horse. "It's late in the day to be conducting business. Is someone expecting you in the village?"

"No. I thought I might put up at an inn until morning."

She nodded in understanding, but said, "Well, it is nearly dark. You won't arrive in the village before they've shut up all the doors. I can see that you've come a long way, and without a doubt your shoes are hurting you. Perhaps we can accommodate you?" She had no intention of letting him travel any further tonight. "Are you hungry?"

If he was surprised to find that the local inn shut its doors at nightfall, he didn't question it. He hadn't let himself even consider food for several hours, but at her words, his stomach gave a sharp growl of protest. He smiled sheepishly at her. "It would seem so."

"Well, I'm certain that we can be of assistance to you there." She turned as a groom emerged from the stables. "Carl, take care of Maximus for me, won't you?"

He bobbed his head, tipping his cap to her as he said, "Yes, milady. I'll give him a good rubdown."

"Thank you."

She took Straker's arm and led him to a side door. "Come with me. Mrs. Meddows will have dinner ready by now. Won't you join me?"

"I wouldn't want to be a bother," he said quietly, ignoring his stomach.

"It is no bother," she assured him as they entered the house.

A butler appeared as if conjured, and she said to him, "Dorset, please set another place at the table. Mr. – um . . . ?"

"Straker."

"Mr. Straker will be joining us for dinner."

"Very well, Madam," the butler said in tones that spoke much louder than his words.

Straker tried not to take the butler's displeasure personally as his hostess led him to a large dining room. Candles were lit throughout the room; on the sideboards, in wall sconces, and an enormous candelabra stood on the table. He was surprised how comforting he found it, especially since he couldn't remember when he had last eaten at a table and not at his desk. She took a seat at the foot of the long table and waved him into the chair to her right. He was grateful for her informality. He had no desire to be seated far away at the head of the table.

"Is it urgent business that brings you to Devilsgate?" she asked him as the servants set the first course before them. When they left the dining room after serving them, he was a little surprised. But then he realized that the informality of their actions spoke a great deal about the household's hospitality. They were obviously used to helping strangers along this road.

"Yes," he said, although he doubted very much if he would find the solution to his problem in the village. However, his case was definitely urgent. After all these years of fighting, SHADO was finally at a critical point in their war with the aliens, and he needed to get back to ensure that everything went well and they were able to prevent them from getting their hands on any iridium. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "You're not dressed for a long walk, so I assumed that you must not have originally planned to travel all this way."

He said blandly, "No, I hadn't planned on such a long trip when I set out."

"You're American, aren't you?" she asked suddenly.

He hesitated before answering. He wasn't certain exactly when in the Georgian era he had been deposited, but was fairly sure that he was in the latter part of the seventeen hundreds. But whether he was before, during, or after the Revolutionary War was the question at the moment. Finally, he said quietly, "Yes."

"Have you been in England long?"

He decided to stick to the truth as much as possible. Hopefully, his facts would line up with history. "About fifteen years."

She raised her brows at that. "You were here during the war? You're either very brave or you're more important a person than you're letting on."

He gave her a small smile. "I'm neither, I assure you."

She looked at him over her wineglass. "Then why didn't you return to America when the war broke out?"

"England is my home," he said simply.

His obvious sincerity silenced her questions for a while.

During the second course, she gestured to his wineglass, which he had not touched. "Don't you care for the wine?"

She'd been so hospitable that he didn't want to inadvertently offend her. He said, "I usually drink coffee with my meals."

"Is that an American custom?" she asked.

"For some."

She rang the small bell near her plate, and a serving maid entered the room.

"Yes, milady?" she asked.

"Please remove Mr. Straker's goblet and bring him some coffee, Alice."

The maid bobbed a curtsey. "Yes, milady."

"You'll like our coffee, Mr. Straker. My father brought back this blend from Jamaica many years ago. The local coffeehouses have nothing to compare to it, or so my father always said."

Straker smiled. "I fell in love with coffee after my first visit to Jamaica," he told her, thinking fondly of his college trip there one summer. "Their beans tend to have the best flavor. I've always wondered if it was the soil."

She grinned at him. "My father would have loved to discuss the coffee trade with you. He could go on for hours about it."

"He's not here?"

She shook her head. "He has been dead for seven years."

"I'm sorry," he said, seeing the sorrow in her eyes. "Your family was able to help you?"

"My brother died quite young," she told him.

He knew that a woman alone in this time period would have found herself in difficult straits. "It must have been hard for you."

She said quietly, "It was harder for my father. He wanted to see me settled before he died. At least I was engaged before his death. My father approved of Geoffrey."

He had noticed the ring on her finger. He nearly asked about her husband, but was distracted by the maid's return with the coffee. She set it in front of him in a delicate china cup, and he thanked her. It smelled wonderful and tasted even better. His smile was warm as he looked at his hostess.

"It's delicious. Thank you."

She relaxed in her chair and smiled at him as the servants brought in the third course. "My father had regular shipments of it sent here. We still keep quite a supply on hand as we're all very attached to it by now. Even me."

This last was said almost defiantly, and he remembered that women were not allowed to drink at coffeehouses in this era. It didn't surprise him that she defied society's ruling in this area. He had already surmised from her unashamed flaunting of her red hair that she was unconventional. He found her independence refreshing.

Of course, he was known to be a bit unconventional himself.

"Well," he said quietly. "I hope you won't refrain from having any coffee now simply because I am here."

She shook her head. "That is kind of you, but no. I don't drink it with my meal, as you do. But since you are so forgiving of my particular vice, I shall have a cup with you later."

"Please do. You have been so kind to me that it would be churlish of me to be offended."

"I well know that things are done differently in the city," she said. "But here in the country, we do not turn away strangers from our door."

"I am grateful."

***

"I was expecting you hours ago."

Alec shrugged, not at all put out by the general's bluster. "We were in the middle of an alert. That took precedence." He saw that Dr. Jackson was in the general's office and gave him a curt nod. Great. Just what he needed. Henderson's own personal creepizoid on hand for this meeting. It was already going to be unpleasant. Jackson's presence magnified that tenfold.

"Is there any news?" the general asked.

"No. Security hasn't found any trace of him."

"What about the paperweight that caused his disappearance?" Jackson asked quietly.

"What about it?"

"Do you have it?" the doctor asked patiently.

The colonel shook his head. "No. It disappeared when the commander did. Why?"

"It might have been interesting to study it," Jackson replied. "We might have learned much about their ability to warp space and time from it."

Freeman grunted in disgust and turned back to the general. Damned scientists! he thought. Cold-blooded bastards, all of them. More interested in their experiments than in the people whose lives hung in the balance. "We won't stop looking for him," he said. "Sooner or later, we're bound to find him."

"Yes," the doctor said meditatively. "But will you find him alive?"

"Listen, you . . . !"

"Jackson has a valid point, Colonel," the general said, forestalling his tirade. "And you know it. Straker's been walking around with a bullseye painted on his chest from the moment SHADO began operations. It's always been just a matter of time before the aliens found a way to do him in for good."

"And I suppose you've got someone waiting in the wings to take over at a moment's notice!"

Henderson sighed. "We did. Yes. The commander and I have discussed the possibility of his death many times over the years, Colonel. He wasn't as blind as the rest of you apparently have been to what could happen to him. He was training Col. McGuire to replace him in an emergency."

Alec was astonished. "Lars? Ed never said anything about it to me."

"Well, Colonel," Dr. Jackson said. "Would you have listened to him if he did?"

Once more the general spoke before the colonel could take his anger out on the doctor. "It hardly matters now what he had planned, since we lost Col. McGuire last month. The timing couldn't be worse."

"Or perhaps the timing was exactly right," said the doctor.

"What are you talking about?" Alec asked impatiently.

"Yes, yes, Jackson," the general said dismissively. "It's possible that recent events have proven your theories about Col. McGuire's death to be correct. But there are other issues to be discussed at the moment."

"What theories?" Col. Freeman asked.

Henderson sighed. "Jackson felt that it might be relevant that the aliens did more than take organs from Col. McGuire's body."

"I wasn't aware that they had."

"Yes, Colonel," the doctor said. "They took his brain as well." He nodded at the colonel's look of shock and continued. "I was concerned that the aliens might have found a way of tapping into his mind, even though separated from his body, allowing them to access his knowledge or memories at will. Commander Straker was equally uneasy and felt that security needed to be tightened in certain key areas."

"So that's why he's run so many drills recently," Alec said, realizing just how far out of the loop his friend had been keeping him. "And you think this is connected somehow to Ed's disappearance?"

"It's possible. We don't really know what they might be able to access from the colonel's mind or even how well they might be able to interpret the images. But Col. McGuire has known the commander long enough to know many of his personal quirks."

Alec nodded in understanding. "Like the fact that he toys with things when he's thinking."

"Yes. Like the glass paperweight that has sat on his desk for so many years. This incident could well be connected to the colonel's death."

"So what do we do about it?"

The doctor spread his hands. "We do not have the technology to even be certain what they have done with the commander. How can we hope to get him back when we don't know where he is?"

After a moment, Alec said, "Then you think he might still be alive?"

"It is hard to say, Colonel. There are no certainties in this situation."

"And it doesn't really matter," interposed the general. "It comes down to the fact that he's gone, and we need SHADO to function at top efficiency. We can't do that if we just sit around waiting for him to find his way back here. If it's even possible for him to do so. You can bet that the aliens wouldn't have made it easy for him to return – if he's still alive at all."

Freeman frowned. "But if his replacement has been taken out, who else is there?"

"Our second choice," Henderson said firmly, raising his brows at the colonel's startled look. "Come, Colonel! You know Straker better than that. When did he ever set up a plan on just one level?"

Alec grinned weakly. "Never. Well, alright. Who is it?"

"Col. Davenport, commanding officer of the New York tracking station. He's on a flight here as we speak."

Col. Freeman was impressed. He knew Jake Davenport well, having done regular checkups at the tracking station over the years. "He's a good man," he said, realizing that Ed really had put some thought into who might be capable of stepping in and taking over if something happened to him. "Does he know?"

"Why he's been sent for?" the general asked. "Yes. I'll brief him further on the situation when he arrives this evening. Expect him at HQ first thing in the morning."

Alec left his office in a daze, sitting in his car for a long time just staring out the windshield at nothing. Life had changed so drastically in such a short time. Ed was gone – maybe for good. That was a hard concept to accept. However, it was a little reassuring that he'd prepared ahead of time for such an eventuality. Even if he hadn't told his closest friend.

Finally, he started the car and drove back to HQ.

**Chapter 4**

There was a cozy fire in the fireplace of the parlor, and she gestured for him to take the overstuffed chair to the right of it. It was almost too comfortable when he sat down; he could feel himself relaxing into its depths and blinked to stay awake.

She spoke to the maid who had just replenished the fire as they came in. "Marie, please bring me his lordship's embroidered slippers."

"Yes, milady." The maid left, quietly closing the parlor door behind her.

The door opened again almost immediately to allow the butler to enter with a serving tray and two steaming cups of coffee.

"Thank you, Dorset," she told him and gave Straker one of the cups. The butler cast a stern eye around the room before leaving, and the commander wondered if he had just been warned to behave himself.

When she propped his feet up on a small needleworked stool, he said, "Thank you. Won't your husband object to someone else wearing his slippers?"

"My husband was known for his generosity," she said as she sank onto the floor before him and removed his shoes.

He could not hold back a sigh of relief once the shoes were off. "Was?"

She set the offending shoes beside the stool and sat down in the matching overstuffed chair to the left of the fireplace. "Lord Oatridge has been gone for nearly three years now."

"I'm so sorry. You seem to have had more than your share of troubles."

She drank her coffee delicately from its china cup. "These are troubling times that we live in."

"Is there no alternative?"

"Oh, yes. There are many," she said with a dismissing wave of her hand. "I could while away my life in the city, going from party to rout to ball without a care."

His lips twitched. Somehow he could not imagine a woman with her strength of character spending her time so frivolously. "I see."

"Or I could marry again, hoping that I'll get as lucky as the last time and he'll leave the running of the estate in my hands." She shrugged. "Either way, it's not what I would wish for."

"Is life here at the Hall so difficult?" he asked. "You seem to handle it quite well."

She nodded. "It's what I grew up with, so it's what I consider normality. London? Paris? They're so strange to me. I never feel as though I quite fit in there. Does that sound foolish to you?"

He thought of Alec, always trying to get him to have a social life. Wanting him to have something more to his days than just his work. But at work was where he felt the most comfortable. "No. I think I understand just how you feel."

"You're very kind." She got up from her chair as the maid returned with the slippers.

As she gave them to his hostess, the maid said softly, "Mrs. Meddows wanted a word, milady."

"Very well, Marie. Tell her I'll be there momentarily."

"Yes, milady."

She knelt and slid them on over his stockings, trying not to jar his feet in the process. But the slippers had been made for a much larger foot than his, so it wasn't difficult. She had wanted to massage his feet for him first, well knowing that they must be throbbing from walking so far in those shoes. But she found herself far too aware of him as a man to do such a homely task. So she settled with merely putting them on his feet before saying, "If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll go and see what Mrs. Meddows needs."

"Please feel free to do so."

She did not completely close the door after she left the room, and he could hear some of the ensuing conversation out in the hall. The housekeeper seemed to be unduly worried about someone named Joseph, and sounded ready to burst into tears with the slightest provocation. He couldn't hear most of what his hostess said in response, but her tone was soothing, and eventually the housekeeper went away, no doubt reassured.

When she came back into the room, she did not immediately return to her chair by the fire, but wandered to one of the tall windows along one wall and pulled back the drape to look out at the night.

"Is there a problem?" he asked her quietly. "Can I help in any way?"

She turned from the window and smiled warmly at him. "That is very gracious of you, Mr. Straker. But there is nothing to be done but to wait. Our housekeeper's son Joseph went to Market Day for us this morning. He has not yet returned, and his mother is worried for him."

"Is he habitually late in returning?" he asked.

"No," she said, coming back to her chair and sitting down, holding out her hands to the fire as if to warm them. "He knows how dangerous it is in these parts to be out after dark. It is not like him at all to be so late."

"What is the trouble? Footpads? Bandits?"

She smiled sadly. "Oh, I would that it were something so mundane!" She sat back in her chair and regarded him steadily for a long moment. And he knew that she was weighing how much to tell him about their local problems.

"I don't wish to pry," he said. "But perhaps if there is some way that I may help . . . ?"

She shook her head. "It is doubtful that anyone can help us, but your desire to do so says a great deal for your kindness. We have dealt with this horror since before my grandfather's time. Have you ever wondered why our village is named Devilsgate? It is a fitting name, you see, for we are plagued with devils here."

"Excuse me?"

She met his eyes, her smile sad. "I can see that you think I am a hysterical female, Mr. Straker. Do you not believe in devils then?"

"I've never been particularly religious," he said apologetically. He knew that the people of this time period were still heavily influenced by superstition, so he tried to keep his disbelief from showing on his face. "But I am aware that there is much in the world that I have never seen. What are these devils like?"

"You could not mistake them if you saw them," she said, rising to her feet and wrapping her arms around herself. "They are red devils that slash a man to ribbons, regardless of how he pleads for mercy."

Her description sounded fearsome enough to terrify an entire village. He asked blandly, "Have you ever seen one of them?"

Her eyes flashed for a moment, and he realized that she had somehow sensed his disbelief. But then she lifted her chin and said firmly, "It grows late, and you are sure to be wanting to rest instead of listening to local folklore. We have made up a bed for you, and Thomas our manservant will be pleased to help you out of your coat and into some nightclothes."

He stood up with a sigh, sorry to have their evening at an end. "What about the boy?" he asked as she handed him a taper to carry up to his room.

She looked at him in surprise. "Joseph?"

"Yes." He walked up the wide staircase with her. "Will you be sending men out tonight to search for him? I would be quite willing to help."

Her smile warmed noticeably. "You're maddening, do you know that?"

He was startled. "I am?"

"Yes." She stopped at the door of the bedroom she had made ready for him. "Just when I think I understand you, you say something to make me doubt my conclusions."

"What did I do?"

He looked so honestly bewildered that she chuckled. "Nothing, sir. I assure you. As to Joseph, we cannot look for him tonight. It is far too dangerous. But at first light, we shall go out and search for him."

"Very well. Will you have someone wake me?"

"Yes, of course." She extended her hand to him, and he took it in his, bestowing a kiss on it as was the custom of her era.

But it was a mistake. He knew it immediately, and could tell from the widening of her eyes that she knew it too. He gave her a short bow and said, "Good night to you, Lady Oatridge."

Her reply was slightly breathless. "Good night, Mr. Straker."

***

His room for the night boasted a feather bed, and a thoughtful servant had used an ingenious device to warm the sheets before he got into it. He'd never had such a soft bed before, and he was asleep almost before he was aware of the difference it made to his comfort.

Straker awoke a few hours later, aware of voices talking quietly down the hall, heading past his door and down the stairs. The fire had burned low in the fireplace, but there was enough light from the embers to dimly see his surroundings. He was surprisingly alert considering his exhaustion level when he'd gone to bed, and he decided that he really must look into getting a feather bed if he ever made it back home. He'd never slept so well in his life. He lit his candle, slid on the slippers, and grabbed the brocaded robe off of the armchair near the door on his way out of the room. He belted the robe snugly, forcing its bigger size to his slender form. Lord Oatridge, he concluded, had been built on a large scale.

Candles had been lit in the main hall below, so he had no trouble navigating the stairs. He could hear the voices clearer as he descended to the main floor.

Lady Oatridge was speaking to someone, their voices echoing slightly as they emerged from an open doorway that led, he assumed, to the back of the house.

A man's voice said gruffly, "Mayhap they've spawned more of them devils in the pond."

"But, Matthew. I was there today, and the waters were still and untroubled. I would have immediately given the alarm if it had been otherwise."

As Straker entered the room, he saw that it was a large kitchen. Three people were present besides his hostess, two of them rather elderly. A young man sat at the table, drinking something hot from a mug. He looked pale and shaken. They started in surprise when they saw him, and his hostess came forward at once.

"Mr. Straker, I am sorry if we awakened you."

His lips curved wryly. "I am afraid I am a light sleeper. Is this Joseph?"

"Yes. As you can see, he is home safe now. It won't be necessary to rise early to search for him."

He could tell that she did not want him to linger in the kitchen. But he was not yet ready to leave. He came closer to the table and said, "Are you Mrs. Meddows?"

The housekeeper was a comfortably round woman with graying hair, who blushed at being addressed and bobbed a small curtsey. "Yes, sir. Sorry if we woke you when we got the mistress, but we knew as she would want to talk to Joseph."

"Of course," he said. "And . . . Matthew, is it?" He held out a hand to the elderly man.

Matthew wiped his hand on his trousers before shaking that lean hand. "Sir," he stammered, surprised to be treated with such deference by a guest.

"Matthew is our gardener," Lady Oatridge explained as she came back to the table. "Joseph is their son."

"And how are you, Joseph?" Straker asked him.

The teenaged boy gulped at being spoken to and said, "Right as rain, sir, now that my insides are settled."

"You've had a scare?"

The young man looked at his mistress before answering. "Yes, sir. But milady will deal with it, and that'll be that."

"Yes, of course I will, Joseph," said the lady in question soothingly. "And I'm sure we shall all feel much better after a good night's sleep."

Straker took the hint and allowed her to usher him out of the kitchen. However, he intended to speak to the boy again in the morning. It would be nice to get a firsthand account of one of these 'devils' that supposedly roamed by night. And perhaps to help lay their horrible legend to rest.

He looked at his hostess as she accompanied him up the wide staircase. She looked pale in the candlelight, and he wondered how frightened she was by whatever tale the boy had told. She seemed calm, outwardly at least. But he knew instinctively that she was distressed by something that had transpired. He hoped it hadn't been him that had upset her.

When she went to leave him at his door, he said, "Will he be all right, do you think?"

She looked momentarily startled by his comment, and he realized that her thoughts had been elsewhere. But she recovered quickly and said, "Yes, I think so. He's young, and therefore is more resilient than his elders. I do hope he won't be plagued with nightmares."

The last was spoken in an undertone, as if she had not intended to voice the thought out loud. Wisely he made no comment, but went into his room. But as he disrobed and got back into the soft bed, he wondered if she suffered from nightmares herself.

***

Davenport parked his silver mini porsche in the spot he had been directed to by gate security and walked into the enormous lobby of the Harlington-Straker Film Studios. Col. Freeman was waiting for him at the main reception desk.

Jake smiled. "Alec!"

"Morning, Jake." The colonel's smile was not as warm as usual, and Jake was immediately reminded of the circumstances that brought him here. It was a depressing thought, and no doubt accounted for Alec's somber mood. Nonetheless, it was good to see a familiar face.

Jake stuck his hands in his pockets and stood looking around as various studio people went purposefully about their day around him. It took him a moment to notice that Alec wanted him to follow him down one of the hallways. "Sorry," he said and let him lead him out of the lobby.

The colonel opened a door halfway down the hall and ushered him into an office. A beautiful secretary sat at a desk, but one look in her eyes made Jake aware that her beauty was just a mask to hide the dragon under the skin.

Alec addressed her. "Miss Ealand, this is Jacob Davenport."

She gave him a cool smile. "Good morning, sir."

"Hi." Jake thought wistfully of his own Mrs. Pimkin back home at the New York office, who brought him homemade cinnamon rolls every morning. He was fairly certain that he would have to handle his own breakfast from now on.

Col. Freeman led him into an inner office, and as soon as Jake stepped over the threshold, he stopped. The office was permeated with Commander Straker's presence. Everything in the room seemed to shout his name, from the awards lining the backlit wall to the various sculptures sitting about. The entire decor oozed his personality to the point that Jake almost expected to see him sitting behind the desk with a welcoming smile.

He sighed and walked to the window, looking out at the lots.

"You haven't been to HQ before, have you?" Alec asked.

"No." Jake turned to him. "I didn't expect the studio to be quite so . . . impressive."

Alec's smile was more genuine this time. "Ed's a workaholic."

Jake grinned wryly, thinking that must be the understatement of the year. "I can believe it. The general didn't say anything about me handling the studio. Will that be one of my duties?"

"Not unless you want it to be. Henderson's not in charge of the studios, so he has no say in how they're run."

"Oh. Who will be taking over the studio work then?"

"I'm in charge for now," Alec said with a sigh. "Eventually I'll have to put someone else in this office, but it's not an issue at the moment. Things will run smoothly for a while before we're forced to do anything about it."

His grief was obvious in his words, and Jake didn't know what to say. He didn't think denial was the best way to run things, and it began to dawn on him that Straker had known what he would be in for when he'd told him once that any new commanding officer coming into HQ would have his work cut out for him. Jake had thought at the time that he'd meant that whoever it was would have to live up to Straker's standard of excellence. But now he realized that the commander had meant that the new CO would have to handle the various stages of grief that the HQ staff would be dealing with in the aftermath of his death.

Great. As if his own grief wasn't enough to handle.

Col. Freeman opened a silver cigar case on the desk and gestured for Jake to speak.

"Jacob Davenport," he said firmly.

"Voice identification, positive," the tinny voice confirmed. "Commander Davenport."

Hearing the voiceprint call him commander solidified everything somehow. Jake could tell from Alec's expression that it had the same effect on him. Freeman's hand trembled slightly as he pushed the button for the office to descend to HQ.

***

Straker woke in the morning thinking about ponds and red devils. He managed to bathe somewhat with a pitcher of warm water and a cloth, but shaving was an ordeal. He looked at his reflection in the mirror as he worked with the long blade and ruefully admitted that he was spoiled by the modern conveniences that he took for granted on a daily basis.

Thomas had pressed his waistcoat and jacket for him, and Straker was grateful to be able to start the day looking decent. He was careful with his hair, but could have used Susan's help in brushing the delicate hair extensions. He wasn't used to working with so much length and could only be glad that most men of this time period wore it simply tied at the neck. As he arranged his lace jabot, he asked the manservant, "Thomas, will I find Lady Oatridge downstairs?"

"No, sir," the manservant answered, bemused by Straker's deft handling of the tricky lace. His lordship had never allowed anyone to speak while he arranged his neckcloths. It had been a monumental task for him to perform each morning. But this man did it all with an air of nonchalance, as if it were of no great importance. Yet he managed to look elegant in spite of it. Thomas marveled that a mere sir would be so accomplished.

He had very sharp eyes too, Thomas thought as they were suddenly fixed upon him in the mirror.

"Is she still asleep?" Straker asked him, aware that the aristocracy of this time period kept late hours and slept far into the morning.

"No, sir. She's gone out."

"This early?" Straker wondered if her early departure had anything to do with what Joseph had seen last night. His blood ran cold at the thought, and he said, "Are there any ponds in the area, Thomas?"

The manservant jumped in surprise, but when he met those piercing eyes, he swallowed and said, "Yes, sir. There's one. Devil's Pond up in the forest."

"Devil's Pond." The name seemed quite apt. He well remembered the unspoken menace he had felt when he'd arrived yesterday next to that pond. And what he had feared lay below its still surface.

When he went to put his shoes on, he found that his feet had swollen overnight and would not go in the shoes. However, his hostess had thoughtfully prepared for such an eventuality by having Thomas bring him an array of boots to try on. They ranged from the elegant, but large, boots of the deceased lord of the manor to the best boots of the stable grooms. Straker chose a sturdy pair that looked to be in fairly good shape and was pleased when they fit his feet well. They were also immeasurably more comfortable than his shoes had been. Perhaps his wardrobe supervisor should take lessons from the local shoemakers.

When Thomas told him that breakfast was waiting, he thanked him and went downstairs. But he never ate this early in the morning, so he contented himself with a cup of coffee and tried to contain his concern for his hostess. He hoped sincerely that his conclusions about their boogeymen were groundless; that he was merely transferring their superstitious fears into ones he recognized. But in the clear light of morning after a restful night's sleep, her description of the menace the countryside faced had new meaning. Especially after the gardener's comment last night about devils coming out of the pond.

Straker wandered out of the house by the side door and was fortunate enough to find Joseph putting blankets into a wagon in the side yard. A sturdy horse had been hitched to it, and it looked as if he was getting ready to leave. Straker was glad he had come out when he did.

"Good morning, Joseph," he said as he approached.

The boy turned and touched his cap. "Sir."

"Heading into town?"

"No, sir," Joseph said. "We're going up into the forest for milady."

Straker's voice was carefully bland as he asked, "With a wagon? Will you be hauling wood with it?"

The boy leaned toward him conspiratorially and whispered, "It's for the body."

The commander struggled to keep his voice smooth, but it was difficult. He wanted to demand answers, but this wasn't SHADO, and he found himself in the difficult position of having to maintain a low profile. "Did you see a body last night, Joseph?"

"Yes, sir. And I . . ."

Just then, his father came out of the stables and saw them talking. He said sharply, "Joseph! Up in the wagon, boy! Her ladyship will be a-waiting for us. Get a move on now!"

"Matthew," Straker said quietly as the gardener climbed onto the wagon seat. "Is there anything I can do to assist you?"

The gardener looked him over with a steely eye, and the commander felt that he'd been weighed and measured fully by the time the old man spoke. "Are you squeamish?"

"Not at all," Straker assured him calmly.

Matthew nodded, then unexpectedly waved his son back from the wagon. "Then you can come with me instead of Joseph. We could use an extra hand, if you'd not be minding the work."

"I am at your service," he said, hopping lightly onto the wooden seat next to the gardener.

Joseph protested loudly on being excluded from the expedition, but his father silenced him with a few short words. Straker was sorry to see him so disappointed as they left the yard; but if they were going to the forest for the reason he thought they were, the boy didn't need to be there.

**Chapter 5**

Lady Oatridge looked dismayed when she saw Straker drive up along the forest path with the gardener. She came forward and said, "Mr. Straker! This is not at all fit for you to see, sir! I wonder at Matthew bringing you here."

"Now, ma'am," the gardener soothed as he jumped down from the wagon. "Let be now. He's a sight more capable of this kind of work than poor Joseph."

She flushed. "I know, Matthew. But indeed, this is hardly the place for any gently-born man."

"Or woman?" Straker asked her blandly as he climbed down from the wagon. When she just looked at him in silence, he said, "I assure you, Lady Oatridge, that I have seen dead bodies before. I have served during war."

She led them into the underbrush. "Perhaps, sir," she conceded. "But it's doubtful that you have ever seen anything quite so vicious as this." She gestured to where a body lay near a bush.

Straker could see as he came closer that the crumpled form had once been a young woman. She had been ripped open, and all of her internal organs were missing. Blood had pooled around her on the ground, along with other gore. He stooped down at her side and gently closed her eyes. He sighed and asked quietly, "Did you know her?"

Lady Oatridge blinked back tears at his tender tone. "Yes. Her name is Clarice Mullens. Her family lives in Harlington. She married our blacksmith in Devilsgate last spring."

There was something in her voice that made him meet her eyes. An unspoken pain darkened the green of her eyes almost to black. "What is it?" he asked softly.

She swallowed, gesturing to the girl's body. "She was pregnant."

He looked back at the body in shock, realizing all of a sudden what the gore surrounding her consisted of. He bit his lip – hard – to hold back his instinctive reaction. But the breath he drew as he stood up again was shaky, and he waited a moment, centering himself once more, before going to the wagon for the blankets.

***

When the office stopped its descent, Col. Freeman made no move to open the door. "Jake," he said, trying to find the right words. "Ed hasn't even been gone a full twenty-four hours. Some of the staff might resent the fact that Henderson replaced him so quickly."

"I realize that, Alec," Jake said, and refrained from asking if the colonel was one of them. "It's okay. I expect it. And I would feel the same in their shoes. But it's for the best. Commander Straker set things up this way, so that there would be no gap in command. He didn't want the aliens to gain any advantage from taking out a member of the command team."

"Right." That sounded just like Ed. Damn him.

"What I need to know," Jake continued. "Is if you're able to support me. Because if you're not, I need to know now, so that you can have somebody else give me the tour."

"Jake . . . ," Freeman began.

"It's alright, Alec," Davenport interrupted. "If you need some time, I would definitely understand. But we need to present a united front to the rest of the staff. Can I count on you?"

The colonel sighed gustily and ran a hand over his face. "Yeah. I'm sorry, Jake. I don't mean to be difficult. It would have been easier if he'd died, you know? Because then at least we'd know he was gone. It's this not-knowing that is tearing me up. The knowledge that he could still be out there somewhere, needing us to find him. To rescue him."

The thought that the commander might still be alive had not occurred to Jake before. He was silent for a moment, considering the possibility. Then he said, "Alec, we'd all be a lot happier if he was still alive. And if we can find any proof that he is, you can bet we'll do everything we can to get him back. But it's not going to help the staff settle back into routine if we keep that thought dangling in front of them. We've got to operate as if he's dead. It's the only way to make a smooth transition."

"I know."

Jake smiled wryly as he added, "And it's what he'd want, Alec. He'd want us to go forward, not looking back. You know that."

Col. Freeman met his eyes. "Yeah. I know that." He squared his shoulders and opened the office door.

***

The villagers came out of their houses as Lady Oatridge rode into town followed by the wagon. They were silent, their faces almost drained of emotion, and Straker realized that they must have been through this many times before. Dear God, he thought. How had this happened? How had the aliens managed to gain a foothold in the past? And was there any way to stop it?

She came to a halt in front of the blacksmith shop and dismounted from her horse. A large man came running out of the shop, tears coursing down his plain face as he fell at her feet sobbing.

"No! No! Not my Clarice!" he begged.

"Booth," she said soothingly to him, laying a slender hand on his dark unruly curls. "I'm so sorry."

Now the crowd came to life, several coming forward and taking charge of the blacksmith, leading him away, while others helped Matthew move the body from the wagon over to the nearby church. Through it all, Lady Oatridge stood overseeing their actions; her face calm, her voice soothing. But as he stood nearby, Straker knew that it was a facade. He could feel her inner rage as if it were connected to his own somehow; as if their respective anger over this young woman's death was somehow feeding off of each other, intensifying with each moment.

He was relieved when they finally headed back up the hill to the manor.

***

The layout of HQ was similar to his own tracking station back in New York, and Jake was glad to have that sense of vague familiarity when they entered the Control room. Alec had been right about the mood of the staff, and Jake could see varying degrees of resentment in the eyes of all of the operatives staring at him. For a moment, he wished he was back in New York, and Talbot was the one facing this unwelcoming crowd. But Col. Talbot was now in charge of the New York tracking station, and no doubt enjoying Mrs. Pimkin's cinnamon rolls at this moment. And Jake was stuck here at HQ – dealing with the grief of Straker's personal staff.

Then he saw a familiar face.

"Ford!" he said, coming forward to grasp the hand of the communications officer.

"It's good to see you, sir," answered the lieutenant, a shy smile lighting his narrow face. "We weren't sure who to expect."

Jake grinned. "Looks like you're stuck with me, Keith." He cocked a brow. "Wanna jump ship?"

Lt. Ford's smile widened. "No, sir. Commander Straker chose well."

Davenport meet his eyes in surprise, then understood that the lieutenant was reminding everyone in the Control room that the new commander had been handpicked by Straker. "Thanks," Jake said softly.

Ford grinned. "Welcome to HQ, Commander."

Col. Lake stood at the bank of computers, glowering. Just like that, the entire atmosphere of the Control room had relaxed, and she knew that the staff had accepted the new commander's presence here at HQ. But she'd be damned if she would. He was barely Paul's age, for one thing. And from his messy hair to his sneakered feet, he was the exact opposite of what a commanding officer should look like. Not only was his dark hair an unruly mess, as if he'd run his fingers through it constantly, but he looked like he hadn't shaved in several days. It was true that he was wearing a tailored suit jacket, but since the shirt under it was unbuttoned at the throat and he wore no tie, the overall look was far too casual. And she was fairly certain that the black pants he was wearing were denim. What could Straker have been thinking to choose this scruffy man to replace him?

She stared down Alec, daring him to try and introduce her to this upstart. And Alec took the hint. But as he led the new commander toward Straker's office, Davenport flicked a glance toward where she stood at the computers. And she was uncomfortably aware that he had read her perfectly in that one swift look.

***

Lady Oatridge showed him to the library upon their return to Claringbold Hall, then left him to his own devices until luncheon. He found the shelves stocked with some intriguing histories of the area, as well as a few of the gothic novels that were in vogue during this era. He steered clear of those and instead took down a volume of Wordsworth's poetry. He felt desperately in need of some balm for his soul.

One of the maids – Marie, he thought – brought him some coffee and scones, and he relaxed into the depths of a comfortable armchair near the fire and immersed himself in a more congenial world for a while. He would have preferred to go back to the forest and roust the aliens from their hiding place in the pond. He would have been quite pleased to have killed them with his bare hands. But he knew such a rash course of action would only lead to his death, and having survived thus far, he was loath to make himself an easy target for them.

He would find a way to stop them. That much Straker was resolved to do before he could even consider finding a way home. But in order to do that, he needed to come up with a viable plan. And Georgian England did not offer him the kind of firepower he needed to effectively deal with the aliens. He would have to find another way. But first he had to deal with his anger over the young woman's death.

So he opened the volume to his favorite poem and let his mind wander lonely as a cloud among the daffodils.

***

Jake took one look at Straker's HQ office and knew he would have to make some changes. Immediately.

"Alec," he said, turning away from the flowing colors of the mural behind the commander's desk and looking studiously at the maps on the opposite wall. "Does that thing turn off?"

"What?" Freeman asked in surprise. Only when Jake looked back at him imploringly did he understand. "Oh. Yeah." He went to the cabinet on the wall near the drink dispenser and opened it, flicking a switch on the instrument panel inside. The mural stopped moving and became static, its colors frozen in place.

Jake breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God!" he said fervently, coming over to the desk. "I thought I was going to be seasick. How in the hell did Straker get any work done with that thing going?"

Alec grinned. "Ed found it relaxing."

Commander Davenport looked skeptical, but made no comment. He sat in the leather chair behind the desk and surveyed the room. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he turned back to the colonel. "Any other senior staff on hand?"

Freeman nodded somewhat reluctantly. "Col. Lake is in the Control room. The rest are elsewhere at the moment. Col. Foster is still on Moonbase, and Col. Grey is overseeing the analysis of the captured ship at the Fredericksburg facility."

"Any reports on that yet?"

"It's too soon to tell," Alec said, sitting in the chair in front of the desk without getting a drink first. "Right now they're trying to find out what the aliens used to power the ship. If Ed was correct and it's iridium, it might be a real breakthrough for us."

Jake agreed. "At the very least, it'll tell us what they're up to." He pressed the button on the desk that connected him with Ford's communications station. "Keith, send in Col. Lake."

"Yes, sir."

Jake sat back in the chair, pleased with its comfortable feel, and tried not to think about the man whose shoes he was going to have to fill. He had to keep reminding himself that Straker had thought he could do this job. If the commander thought he was capable, then he had to find some way of living up to that. He refused to let his commander down at this time of need.

When Col. Lake entered the office, Jake gestured her to a chair and pressed the button on the desk to close the door. She blinked at the frozen mural behind his desk, but made no comment as she sat down.

He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on top of the desk. "Now. It looks to me as though HQ is functioning fairly well, in spite of yesterday's crisis. Do either of you see any problems here that require our immediate attention?"

"No," Alec said.

"No. Sir."

If he heard the frostiness of her tone, he did not heed it. "Good. It's to be hoped that Col. Grey will have a preliminary report on the ship for us by the end of the day, and we'll proceed from there once we have that information. In the meantime – just within these four walls, mind you – I am willing to listen to any theories you might have on where Commander Straker might be (if he's still alive) and how we might possibly find him and bring him home."

Ginny was surprised enough to speak without thinking. "You mean, you want him back?"

He looked searchingly at her. "Don't we all?"

Col. Freeman leaned forward, saying, "Can it be done? Can we get him back?"

Jake said, "I don't know, Alec. The general didn't give me a lot of the particulars. But I think if we put our heads together, we could probably figure out at least what happened to him. You two were here with him in the office, is that correct?"

"Yeah. We were discussing the possibility of the aliens using iridium as fuel for their ships when there was a flash of light – and Ed was gone."

"Did something happen first? Was he touching anything when he disappeared?"

"Yes," Col. Lake said grudgingly. "The glass ball that sits on his desk. That sat on his desk. He was holding it."

"A glass ball?"

"It was a paperweight," Alec said. "It sat on a stand on his desk."

"And he was holding it? Do you know why? Did he notice something unusual about it?"

"No," Freeman said. "It wasn't like that. He was just toying with it."

"I'm sorry?" Davenport looked bewildered.

"Like a nervous habit," Virginia explained. "He often fiddled with things while he was thinking."

"Oh, yes!" Jake nodded in sudden understanding. "I've seen him do that with a pen." He thought for a moment. "Was this habit of his widely known?"

"If you're asking if the aliens were aware of it, it's obvious that they must have been. After all, they booby-trapped the paperweight. But we don't have any idea how they found out about his habit or even that he kept the thing on his desk."

"Actually," Freeman said tentatively. "We do know." As Ginny looked at him in surprise, he said, "At least, Dr. Jackson had a theory."

Jake lifted a hand. "And Dr. Jackson is?"

Alec said, "HQ's head psychiatrist."

"Thank you. Go on. What was his theory?"

"He thought it might have something to do with Lars McGuire's death a few weeks ago."

"How could Lars possibly have anything . . . ?" Ginny began incredulously.

"Because the aliens took his brain!" Alec said fiercely. "And Jackson thinks they might have been able to tap into it and scan his memories or something like that. I don't understand it all myself, but even Henderson was willing to believe it could have been connected to what happened to Ed yesterday."

Virginia went pale with the implications. "But . . . good God, Alec! Who knows what they've been able to access then? Lars knew things about SHADO that only very few people know."

"Did he know about Commander Straker's nervous habit?" asked Jake, zeroing in on the relevant aspect of Alec's words.

"Yes. Undoubtedly," the colonel said with a shrug. "Well, he's known Ed for years. He'd be bound to know."

Jake sat back in the chair and thought for a moment. "Okay," he said finally. "So we have a working theory on how the aliens were able to pick a trap especially designed for the commander. They couldn't know when he would trigger the trap, but perhaps that wasn't important. Sooner or later, he would pick up the ball on his desk and fiddle with it. Did anyone else ever move the ball?"

Ginny shook her head. "No one would touch anything on his desk."

Jake looked at the empty surface of the desk. "Where is everything that he had on his desk?"

"Security has it," Alec said.

"Even the ball?"

"No. It disappeared when Ed did."

Jake sighed. "So we have no way of knowing what it did to him. If it killed him outright or just took him somewhere else altogether."

"If he was still alive, he'd have contacted us by now," Virginia said fiercely. "No matter where they sent him! He'd have found a way to let us know his whereabouts. He may not have been armed, but he had his phone."

Jake looked up at that. "His phone? Has anyone tried to locate him through his phone?"

Freeman sighed heavily. "Yeah. We tried. We got nothing. No location. No signal. Not even his voicemail. It's like the phone didn't even exist anymore."

"Perhaps they sent him somewhere where his phone wouldn't get service."

"I don't think so, Jake," Alec said. "We'd have gotten his voicemail at least, if that were the case."

"Not necessarily." Jake was quiet for several minutes, considering the information they had on the commander's disappearance.

Ginny watched him, hope stirring inside for the first time since the commander had vanished. Davenport might be scruffy, but the things he'd said since the conversation began showed her that appearances were deceptive. The man was highly intelligent. And he really seemed to want to get the commander back, which surprised her. Most men in his position would be only too happy to let things lie. After all, they were the top dog now. But apparently, concern for Straker superceded his own career advancement.

She couldn't help but be grateful. "Where are you thinking they sent him?" she asked softly.

He met her eyes, his own dark and piercing. "The aliens have displayed remarkable technology in a few distinct areas. In many ways, they aren't that much further ahead of us technologically. Except in these key areas."

"Space flight," Alec said.

"Yes," agreed Jake. "Their ability to travel at faster than light speeds is still quite ahead of anything we can do. But there is one other area where they leave us far behind."

"Time," Ginny said, her flesh growing cold at the thought. She had never forgotten her experience with the commander during the aliens' time freeze a few years ago. Her nightmares were still full of those images.

"Yes!" Jake said earnestly. "Time."

"But . . . !" Alec sputtered. "You think they've sent him somewhere in_ time_?"

Jake spread his hands. "I know it sounds bizarre, Alec. But it makes more sense than to simply send him to another place. As Col. Lake has said, he would find a way back to HQ, if that were the case. They would need to send him somewhere where he _couldn't_ get back."

"Inside a second?" Virginia asked fearfully.

He shrugged. "I don't know, Colonel. It's possible, I suppose. But somehow I doubt it. He got out of that trap before, if you remember. And the aliens don't usually make the same mistake twice. It's much more likely that they sent him – not to another place, but to another time. Where he wouldn't be able to get back to HQ, no matter what he did."

"If that's the case," Alec began heavily, looking shaken. He too remembered the incident when the aliens had frozen time. And he would never forget how devastated the whole episode had left his friend and commander. "He might be better off dead."

"Alec!" Ginny gasped.

He turned to her, his face grim. "You know I'm right! You of all people know!"

She hugged herself, trying to shut out the images her mind wanted to replay. "If he's alive, it's a _good_ thing! Because we might be able to get him back."

"How?" he demanded.

She shrugged helplessly, almost in tears.

Davenport's soothing voice cut in. "I'd like you both to be thinking of suggestions we can try. I will entertain any ideas, even absurd ones. However, all discussion concerning it remains in this room – with the door closed. As far as the rest of HQ knows, the commander is dead. Do I have your agreement?"

"Yeah," Alec said, rising from his chair with a sigh to head back to the Control room.

"Yes," Virginia said as she stood to go.

"Colonel," Jake said quietly as she turned to leave the office. "He was my commander too."

Ginny met his eyes in surprise and realized that he had been aware of her earlier thoughts about his promotion. She looked away in embarrassment. "Yes, sir."

***

Luncheon was a subdued meal. Neither of them seemed inclined to initiate a conversation, nor did either of them have much of an appetite. Straker noticed that his hostess' eyes were red-rimmed, as if she'd been crying. Wisely he made no comment about it.

When they were finished with their meal – or rather, when they both were done pretending to eat – she spoke.

"Do you need to go to the village, Mr. Straker? I wouldn't want to keep you from your business there."

She wasn't getting rid of him that easily. Especially now that he knew what she was up against. "It can wait," he said dismissively. "I would, however, very much like to talk to you about a few things. If you have the time."

Her eyes searched his face for a long moment, as if she were trying to assess his mood before agreeing. But eventually, she sighed and said, "Very well, sir. I have some time now, if you will. There should be a warm fire in the parlor."

"Thank you," he said as he stood, waiting for her to put her hand on his arm so that he might accompany her there. She stole another glance at him from beneath her lashes as she did so, but he doubted if his expression told her anything useful. He'd had years of experience in perfecting a poker face.

She must have known what he wished to speak to her about, but she did not say anything on the subject once they were ensconced in the comfortable armchairs. In fact, her only comment was to offer him coffee. After she had sent the maid out for it, she sat back in her chair and steadily regarded him, leaving the conversation firmly in his lap. It surprised him, because he did not think that such deference was usual for her. He wondered what she was expecting him to say?

He waited until the butler had left after bringing in their coffee before speaking. "I want to apologize to you for misjudging your situation last night."

She blinked and seemed unsure how to answer for a moment. Then she said, "You thought I was exaggerating a horror tale for your edification."

"Not exactly. I'm afraid that I assumed that local superstitions had done the exaggerating for you."

"I see. And I was just a gullible woman who believed them?"

He smiled wryly. "I don't know if I thought of it quite like that, but I suppose in essence you're correct. I can only apologize and hope that you'll forgive my arrogance. I was misled by your reference to devils and therefore didn't realize the probable truth of your assertions until this morning."

She was disconcerted by his meekness. She had not expected it of him, since he was not a timid man. Rather, he had all the air of a man used to authority, and she had assumed he would patronize her. It took her a moment to shift her thoughts. "Apology accepted, Mr. Straker. Am I to understand that you have dealt with this type of abomination before?"

"Yes. Many times."

"I wondered. You seemed to handle the grotesqueness of the situation this morning in an extremely calm manner." In fact, he had been so much more than calm. He had been kind. Unlike her husband, who in similar circumstances had been violently ill and had henceforth refused to listen to anything she said about the matter. Which had been no help to her or the village.

"You said that they have been plaguing your village since before your grandfather's time. Do you know how long ago it was when they first appeared?"

She shook her head. "I do not have the exact date. However, my grandfather used to tell me stories from his childhood about hunting devils, so it was at least that long ago. And the village sprang up about that time and has always had the name of Devilsgate, so the area must have already had a reputation for them at least as long ago as the turn of the new century."

"I see." He was silent a moment, then asked, "How often do they attack?"

"Three or four times a year. We never know when to expect an occurrence, but we keep a vigilant eye on Devils' Pond for any sign of their return. It always seems as though the devils stay away just long enough for the villagers to think they are safe once more. Then they strike."

"I am curious about one thing," he said quietly.

She met his eyes, wondering what he might say next. He was treating the entire situation with a seriousness that she had not seen since her father's death. It was balm to her to be able to talk to someone about it, because for so long she had carried the heavy weight of it alone. But as she looked into those blue eyes, she knew there was more to it than that. She wished suddenly that she was more adept at flirtation. But she knew none of the wiles that other girls were taught from their cradle. Her life had been full of the training necessary to protect her home and village from devils. There had been no time for such frivolous things as learning how to attract a man who interested you. "What is that?" she asked.

"When you described the devils to me, you said that they had no mercy, even when a person begged for it – or something like that."

"Yes." She took a sip from her cup before setting it aside and bravely meeting those piercing eyes. "You're wondering how I know that. If it was told to me by another, or if I witnessed it for myself."

"It was an unusual way to describe them. Accurate. But not a normal description, if you understand my meaning."

"I do." She took a deep breath. "My husband – Geoffrey – he was . . ."

"Please," he interrupted, laying a lean hand over her restless ones in her lap. "It's alright. You don't have to say any more."

She took another shaky breath, feeling the strength in that hand and turning her hand in his, shamelessly drew from it in order to continue. "Geoffrey didn't believe in them, you see. He was certain that the attacks had been caused by nothing more terrible than a wild animal. He was determined to trap it, kill it, and mount it on our wall as a sign to all the village that he had laid the monster to rest."

"I'm sorry." How much worse his skepticism of last night must have been for her, like an echo of when her own husband had not believed her. It had to have been a painful reminder to her of a horrific memory, because it was obvious that the story had not had a happy ending.

"He told me to run. After they had ripped him open in spite of his screams and his pleadings, he looked at me where I had fallen – and told me to run. And I did." She released his hand suddenly and covered her face, sobbing brokenly.

Straker wanted desperately to gather her into his arms and hold her until her grief subsided. But he was far too aware of her as a woman to allow himself that dangerous closeness. He didn't know why she affected him so strongly, but he was not fool enough to think he could master it. Instead, he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and let her cry it out. He wondered how long she had held that terrifying memory inside. There could not be many in her circle of acquaintances that she could speak openly to about her plight. Yet she had not abandoned the estate after her husband's death. She had not sought out the gaiety of city life to counteract her pain. Rather, she had stayed where she was needed, helping her village cope with the horrors it faced over and over again.

He thought she was the bravest woman he had ever met.

**Chapter 6**

In the morning, Lady Oatridge had control over herself once more. True, her smile was slightly shaky when he entered the dining room. But when he refrained from bringing up the events of the day before, she became more confident. And her smile became more genuine.

"I wondered if you would like to join me for a gallop across the hills," she said as she buttered a large crust of bread.

Straker looked up in surprise, his eyes lighting at the thought of riding. "Really?"

She laughed. "I can see that you are in favor of it. Well, then." She looked him over critically. "I think that Agrippa might suit you. He has a tendency to want things his own way, but I am confident that you will be able to show him who is in charge."

"I will try," he said blandly. "Are all your horses named for ancient philosophers?"

She grinned. "Of course. I have always done so. My first horse as a child I named Plato. He lived up to his name quite nobly."

He tried to imagine her astride her first horse, her lovely red hair bouncing in the wind as she learned to ride. "My first horse was named Quartermaster, and you would have to know my father to understand the irony of that."

She looked inquiring. "Isn't it a military term?"

"Yes." He set down his cup. "Listen. I'm afraid I don't have a riding habit with me."

She shook her head at him. "Well, we shall have to see what we can do for you."

"I appreciate it more than I can say," he told her with a soft smile. "Oh, and my feet thank you for the loan of the boots."

She laughed once more. "I am glad that we were able to accommodate you, Mr. Straker."

***

"_What are you doing?_"

Jake turned from the bank of computers, startled by her harsh tone, and gave her a shy smile. "Oh. Good morning, Col. Lake. I was just trying to locate all the known deposits of iridium globally."

She frowned, looking over the equipment as she answered him. "Then we know for certain? The aliens use it to power their ships?"

"Yes. Once we map all the iridium deposits, we'll be able to fortify those areas and be ready for the aliens when they search them out in the future. It's the breakthrough we've been needing."

She nodded absently, her mind intent on checking the systems.

"What are you doing?" he asked her in bewilderment.

She looked up at him, meeting his dark eyes in surprise. "I'm not used to anyone else messing with these computers. They're touchy, and can give you garbled data if you don't word your questions just right."

"Oh. Okay." He gave her a sheepish smile. "Perhaps you'll ask for the coordinates for me?"

She smiled smugly in return. "I'll get right on it, sir."

"Thanks." He stuck his hands in his pockets and left the Control room for his office. He decided not to tell her that he had already accessed the information. If she wanted to be in charge of the computers, he wasn't going to argue with her. He liked her much better when she wasn't glowering at him.

***

Agrippa was a beautiful black stallion with white forelegs and a diamond of white between his eyes. Straker and he stared at each other for a while, each taking the other's measure. Then the commander leapt into the saddle and prepared to enjoy his ride.

Lady Oatridge was on Maximus and looked incredibly lovely in her riding habit. Done in a military style that flattered her trim figure, the habit's turquoise blue taffeta was a sharp contrast to her hair and the horse's coloring – making a stunning picture. He felt like a peasant beside her in his borrowed clothes. How he wished he had access to the studio wardrobe at this moment!

They cantered over the hill and beyond the valley, heading east. It was a bright clear morning, the air crisp and fresh, and Straker found himself smiling at nothing in particular as they rode. They gave the horses an energetic workout, though not – he was sure – as much of one as she would have done alone. He was grateful for her restraint. It had been a while since he had sat a horse, and he didn't want to end the day sore.

Eventually they found their way to a hilltop with a stand of trees, and they dismounted to sit in the shade. Lady Oatridge tossed him an apple from her saddlebag before sitting nearby with a wedge of cheese and a small knife. They snacked in companionable silence for some time, sharing the cheese and enjoying the view. He could see the manor in the distance, seeming rather forbidding and medieval on its hill overlooking the valley. It looked so sure of itself sitting there, not at all as if its powerful gothic walls hid horrors not meant for it to bear.

"I wish I knew what to do to stop them from coming here," he said with a sigh.

She looked at him in surprise. When those serious blue eyes met hers, she said, "I'm amazed that you would be willing to try. No one else has had the fortitude to even consider such an option. But then, you said you have dealt with them before."

"Yes."

She turned toward him confidingly. "You know, sir. You have quite won over my servants."

Straker was startled. "I have?"

She nodded, a small smile on her face. "Even Matthew has taken to you, and he is very hard to please. I must say, I was astonished when he drove up with you yesterday in the wagon. We have always done all that we could to keep strangers away from what goes on around here. It is better for them. And in the long run, it is also better for us. But somehow, Matthew trusted you to handle it."

"I asked him to take me along," he explained.

Her smile widened. "Oh, it would have taken more than that, I assure you! But it seems as though he was correct in his decision. You were indeed a great help. I don't think I even thanked you for it."

He shook his head. "It's not necessary. I'm just glad I was here and in a position to assist you. You should never have had to deal with such a situation alone."

She met his eyes hesitantly. "It meant a great deal to me to have you there. I had forgotten what a difference the presence of a strong man can make in a crisis."

He sighed and looked out over the countryside. "I wish I could have done more."

She watched his profile for a while, then said softly, "Will you tell me of your experiences with the devils, Mr. Straker? You do not seem to fear them as we do, and it would be interesting to see them through your eyes. Or is your tale even more horrific than my own?"

"You're wrong," he said. "I do fear them. And no, my story is not anywhere near as terrible as yours. I don't know how you have managed to endure everything that has been thrown at you. I am in awe of your courage, Lady Oatridge."

She blushed. "And here I was certain that you saw me as a coward."

He was shocked that she would think so. "How so?"

She shrugged. "Because I was not able to save my husband from them. Because I ran away instead of fighting them."

"Listen," he said earnestly. "If you hadn't run, you would have died. You did exactly right in following your husband's instructions. You _survived_. And that is not something that many who have met them can say."

"Thank you," she said, nearly overwhelmed by his words.

"And there's more," he continued quietly. "You have never stopped fighting them in your own way. Alone, traumatized, with the weight of the entire countryside on your shoulders, you still stand against them. Still remain vigilant in your efforts to protect your home and your village from their attacks. I have never known anyone with your strength of determination. If I were at home, I would recruit you without a second thought."

"You make me sound heroic," she said somewhat shakily. "And indeed, I'm not. I have merely done what my family has always done: guard our lands from devils. It is my sworn duty. Nothing more."

"You awe me," he repeated, as though that settled the matter.

After a few minutes of silence, she pulled her handkerchief out of her sleeve and blew her nose. "You said you would recruit me," she said once she was composed. "For what?"

"There is an organization that was set up to fight them," he said, wondering how much of the truth she would be able to accept. "I am a part of it. Unlike you, I have never had to fight them alone."

"An entire organization?" she asked in wonder. "Will they help us? Can you send for them?"

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid. They are quite far from here."

"In the Americas?"

His lips quirked. "Much further than that." He turned to her. "Lady Oatridge, I beg that you won't think I am spinning a tale for you, but that you'll believe what I say even though it may sound as absurd to you as your devils did to me. But I don't come from this place. Or rather, from this time. The England I know is in the future."

"The future?" She stared at him for a long time, then unexpectedly she said, "I wondered."

"Excuse me?" he asked in surprise.

She smiled at him. "Well, there was just something about you that didn't seem to quite fit into our world, Mr. Straker. You have the mannerisms right, and the clothes right; but there were a few times I glimpsed something in your eyes that looked almost lost. As though you were out of your normal sphere of influence and were feeling your way blindfolded."

He grimaced. "A very apt way of describing it."

"And I suppose since you have been so forthright with me, I should confess that I did see you arrive here. So I knew from the start that you were different."

He realized that his mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap. "You _saw_ me . . . ?"

"I was at the pond, checking to see if they had returned. It is sometimes possible to tell, because the water will glow with an eerie light or there will be bubbles on the surface. In those instances, we can alert the villagers, and the town will shut down until it is safe to go about again. But this time, there was nothing to see. It was more a feeling, not anything tangible that I could be certain of."

"Menace," he said helpfully. "I felt it too."

"Yes. Menace. That was what it was. I saw you back away from the pond. It intrigued me. And made me wonder what you knew about them to make you react that way. I decided to keep an eye on you to see what you would do." She gave him a wry smile. "I did not think you would walk so far, or I would have tried to meet up with you before you reached the manor. I felt so sorry for your feet in those shoes."

"You certainly should have come upon me sooner," he said sternly, seeing the laughter in her eyes.

She grinned, but said reasonably, "Yes, I know. But I did not know you then. And I had no idea if you might somehow be working with the devils. So it seemed safer to wait until there were other people nearby before I approached you."

He sighed. "I wish I could fault your logic, but I can't. In fact, you acted very wisely under the circumstances. But you are correct. It was not a very comfortable walk."

"I am sorry."

He shook his head, denying any need for apologies.

"So . . . what is the future like? Is it fantastical?"

He smiled wryly. "I should have known that you wouldn't be dismayed by my revelation. You're an exceptional woman. But it seemed too much to hope that you wouldn't be appalled. The future is . . . busy. Noisy. Nothing like it is here." He took a deep breath and let it out, enjoying the tranquility of his surroundings. "In spite of being out of time, as it were, and quite lost, this entire episode has been like a vacation for me. I don't know when I have ever relaxed as much as I have since I've been here. Your pace of life is so much less frantic than what I'm used to. And of course, you and your household have been very kind to me."

"I cannot imagine the future the way you describe it," she said finally. "But it sounds quite intriguing. Tell me, have clothing styles changed so little throughout the generations?"

He chuckled. "Oh, yes. They have changed greatly. You would definitely be appalled by our fashions! But I was fortunate enough to be dressed for this era when I was sent here. A fluke, but it worked in my favor. If I had come twenty years earlier or later, it would have been fairly obvious that I didn't belong."

"I don't understand. Why were you dressed for our time?"

His expression turned sheepish. "Well, I . . . in the future, we put on lots of plays. And I was, er, performing in one about your time period and so was dressed accordingly."

"You're an actor?"

She sounded bemused rather than outraged. He looked at her in surprise, knowing that acting in this era was frowned upon, and very nearly chuckled again. She was gazing at him very much like any starstruck fan at the studio. "You like plays?"

She sighed gustily. "I once saw David Garrick play Hamlet in Drury Lane. I have not forgotten it. Such eloquence! Such heartbreak! I have never seen anything to match it. Do you perform Shakespeare, Mr. Straker?"

He grinned at her, delighted by her guileless hero worship. "I have played Hamlet, yes. Although I doubt very much if I did as good a job of it as Garrick. He was considered quite a remarkable actor."

She looked at him from under her lashes. "I should like to see you perform sometime, I think."

"I don't think it would be a good idea," he said. "I'm not as accomplished as Garrick was, and it would be sad to see you lose faith in me."

She shook her head at him, but said nothing more about it. A light breeze had sprung up, and they sat in silence for a time, enjoying its refreshment. After a while, she asked, "Did you leave family behind in the future, Mr. Straker? Are they missing you now?"

He sighed, reminded by her words that even though this idyllic setting was pleasant beyond words, it wasn't home. "There will be a few who miss me," he said. "Alec, my second-in-command, for one. I'm sure he's taken this hard. Because they'll think I'm dead, you see. And there's no way I can tell them differently."

She wasn't very surprised to find that he was the leader of this organization he had spoken about. That indefinable air of command that clung to him had been obvious to her from the start. "Tell me about him," she coaxed. "Is he a loyal friend?"

He smiled faintly. "There is no one more loyal than Alec. I don't know what I would have done all these years without him. He's just always there, lightening my load for me. It's only been these past few days while I've been here that I've realized how much I depend on him. And I feel like a fool for taking him for granted all this time."

"He is like a brother to you," she said softly.

"Yes. I guess he is."

"And the others?" she asked. "Who are they? Do you have a wife?"

"No." He frowned, gazing out at the surrounding hills without really seeing them. "I did. Once. But our organization operates in the future very much as your small group does here in the past. Secretly. And it wasn't possible to include her in the circle of those who knew what was going on. Which rather doomed our relationship from the beginning."

"I'm sorry. It is difficult indeed when a couple cannot work together. Do you live apart then?"

He grimaced. "We're divorced." He met her shocked expression with a sad smile. "It sounds scandalous, I know. But in the future, divorces occur all the time." He shook his head slightly. "It's not an easy world to live in sometimes."

"And you have never remarried?"

"I've thought about it," he admitted. "But I learned my lesson and won't consider marrying someone who doesn't know what my work really entails; so that doesn't leave me a lot of women to choose from."

"Yes. I understand perfectly," she said. "I am very conscious of the fact that I must remarry. And not take too long before doing so, or I shall find myself on the shelf. But the men of my acquaintance in the city are not what I would choose for a husband. And the few I find bearable are already married to my friends. Do you find the women you work with unacceptable?"

"Not unacceptable," he said, trying to find the right word for it. "They are brilliant women, all of them, and very accomplished at their jobs. It's more that they are very focused on their careers. Which is a good thing; don't get me wrong. But for a wife, I could wish for someone a little more . . . I don't know."

"Someone who would be willing to help you shoulder the load you carry," she said softly.

"Yes. That's it exactly," he said, turning to her. But as he met her gaze, he froze, his eyes widening with the sudden realization that here before him sat everything he had been looking for all these years. A woman who saw the world as clearly as he did, and who would not flinch from assisting him in any endeavor necessary to protect the planet.

Overwhelmed, Straker reached for her, gathering her into his arms and kissing her. She responded, melting against him and kissing him back with a fire that ignited his own. His fingers plunged into her curls, drawing her head back to deepen the kiss. He moaned, she moaned, and her hands clutched his shoulders as if holding on for dear life.

Dimly he heard alarm bells ringing in his mind, but he saw no reason to heed them. He was drowning in her sweetness, a nectar he had never before tasted and now was certain that he would crave forever. He broke from her lips in order to breathe, but could not resist pressing kisses along her jawline and against the honeyed spiciness of her throat. But when she trembled against him, he came to his senses with a jolt and wrenched himself away from her, stumbling to the brow of the hill and taking deep breaths to clear his head. After a long time, he spoke.

"I'm so sorry. That was . . . way out of line. Please forgive me."

She did not speak for a moment, still trying desperately to calm herself. But her body sang with nerve endings she had never been aware that she possessed, and she had no idea how long it might take to quiet them. She had both hands at her bosom, trying to keep her heart from bursting from her breast, and they trembled spasmodically, still feeling the firm strength of his shoulders. "Mr. Straker . . ." she began somewhat breathlessly.

"My actions were unconscionable. I am well aware of how delicate your position is in this community, Lady Oatridge, and I would never do anything to hurt your standing with those who look to you for protection and safety."

"Mr. Straker," she began again, only to have him interrupt once more. He still had not looked at her, but stood stiffly staring out at the surrounding hills.

"I will go at once and find some employment in the village, so that I may be able to pay for a room at the inn. I know that the villagers are probably already concerned for your reputation, since I have been at your home now for two nights."

Finally she made it to her feet, although they were still a bit shaky under her. "We do not turn away those in need from our doors here in Devilsgate, Mr. Straker, no matter what they do in other cities."

He turned to her at last, his blue eyes dark with passion and regret. The first nearly sent her to her knees again, but the second steadied her.

"You have been more than kind to me, Lady Oatridge, but I cannot trespass upon your hospitality any longer. Surely you must see how necessary it is for me to find other accommodations?"

"I should like you to stay," she said quietly, her heart racing within her at her daring.

"I . . ." He bit down on his tongue before he found himself agreeing with her. He said a trifle shakily, "I cannot stay here. This isn't my home, and I have to find a way to return to the world where I belong. I promise you that I won't leave until we have found a way to stop your devils from tormenting you. But after that, I must find a way back. And I will not . . . I _cannot_ treat you so lightly that I would take what you offer me and then walk away. I am no rake, madam."

She smiled sadly. "I never thought you were, sir."

"Then we are agreed."

"No, we are not," she said firmly. "Mr. Straker, how will it be possible for us to discuss any plan to rid the countryside of these devils if you spend all your days in the village working at some menial job? Especially since it will not be safe for you to venture out after dark? We have a limited interval before the devils leave again, and who knows when they will return? We must make the most of our time while they are here, or we shall lose our chance to be rid of them once and for all."

He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "You are right, Lady Oatridge. Do you perhaps have a better scheme in mind?"

"I do," she said and saw him smile slightly at her determined tone. "I agree that you should get a room at the inn. But for employment, you shall come to the manor each day."

"Are you in need of another groom, madam?" he asked blandly.

"Don't be absurd," she scolded. "You will be my secretary. Everyone knows how much I dread paperwork, so you can assist me in putting my account books in order. That will give us plenty of time to come up with a strategy for dealing with the devils."

He looked at her with a great deal of respect. "You truly are an amazing woman," he said, his quiet voice making the words sound like a caress.

She blushed. "I am certain that you would have come up with a similar plan, given enough time."

"You are too kind," he said drily, taking her hand to lead her to her horse.

**Epilogue**

Straker laid in bed that evening, trying to tune out the sounds of the other inhabitants of the inn below him as they dined and drank the evening away. Already he missed the luxuries of Claringbold Hall, with its attentive servants and soft feather beds. He sighed, turning onto his side in an effort to find a comfortable position. He had always regarded himself as a man inured to hardships, capable of handling whatever disaster life threw at him. It was lowering to realize that he was weak enough to greatly miss the many conveniences of his own time, but it was even harder to accept that he missed the small niceties of Lady Oatridge's home as well.

He thought perhaps what he would miss the most was her laughter at breakfast.

He reached out and picked up the glass ball that sat on his nightstand. Such a little thing, he thought, to have brought him so far – to this place in time. Unfortunately, whatever power the aliens had used on it to send him here had been exhausted. It was back to being nothing more than a paperweight once more, and no amount of handling had the slightest effect on it. He had spoken boldly to Lady Oatridge of his intention to return home once they had solved the problem of the devils attacking her village. But he was uneasily aware that he might be stuck here in Georgian England for the rest of his life.

What bothered him the most about that realization was that it didn't upset him as much as it should.


End file.
